Chapter 12
The room warmed to a stifling degree around Payton, and she blinked several times to make sure she saw things for what they were. She would have pinched herself if she’d been alone, but she was not.
Had she fallen into a dream, her mind finding it comical to play tricks on her?
Lord Ashford, neckcloth hanging untied around his neck and the buttons undone at his throat, stood before her—his arm out.
Waiting.
Waiting to escort her, Payton Samuels, to the dining hall.
She looked between his outstretched arm and his smiling face. Had she ever seen the baron smile before? The simple change transformed him from the detached, dour lord into a man ten years younger. His shoulders were straighter, and his eyes sparkled. Was it mischief they held?
The look was all too familiar as it mirrored his children’s sly glances when they were causing trouble.
“Shall we?” he asked. “If we do not hurry, I fear they will eat everything before we arrive.”
After nearly five weeks in the baron’s employ, Payton had never witnessed Lord Ashford in any state except vexation and annoyance—besides their brief reprieve in his study.
She placed her fingers at the crook of his elbow, just below his rolled-up sleeve. The warmth of his skin heated her hand through her white glove, and her fingers tensed. For a man who rarely left his study, muscles corded his forearm.
Payton tilted her chin up, her reply on the tip of her tongue. “You have a dusting of freckles across the bridge of your nose.”
Instantly, she longed for the floor to open beneath her and swallow her whole.
Embarrassment flamed within her, making her already heated skin boil.
The baron brought his free hand to his nose. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
How had she never noticed the freckles before? They matched the light brown hue of his hair exactly.
“The children do not have any freckles.”
“I suppose it would not be fair if they inherited my eyes and my freckles.”
“My apologies, my lord.” Payton lowered her gaze.
No longer looking into his eyes, she was now focused on his chest—another mistake.
Without his coat, the material pulled tight across his pectorals, giving her a hint of what lay beneath his shirt.
Her cheeks flushed as images of his bare, muscled chest sprang to her mind.
“I think you are correct. If we do not hurry, Joy and Abram will start without us.”
Payton kept her stare trained on the floor as they made their way from the study to the dining hall, her skirts brushing against the baron’s leg with each step.
While she was taller than the average woman, Lord Ashford still stood a head above her.
She risked a glance up at him. His angular jaw tightened, and the muscles along his neck twitched.
Perspiration beaded on his forehead, betraying the confident tilt of his chin.
He was nervous. But why?
Laughter rang out as they entered the dining hall. The lighthearted sound went silent immediately as both children turned to face them as they made their way to the table. Joy’s wide-eyed stare traveled back and forth between her and the baron, while Abram’s expression had turned solemn.
“Father?” Joy’s tiny voice quivered.
A footman stepped forward and pulled Payton’s chair out for her to sit, and another hurried into the room with a place setting for Lord Ashford.
Abram shifted in his seat when the baron took his place at the head of the table—his children at his left, and Payton on his right.
Table etiquette wasn’t a topic she’d explored with the children as of yet; however, the place she sat was typically reserved for the lady of the house.
She glanced at the chair next to her, one farther away from the baron, and debated switching seats.
“Are you dining with us?” Abram asked.
Lord Ashford cleared his throat, his smile thin with unease. “Yes, I thought it would be a nice change.”
The children gaped at her from across the table, and she merely shrugged.
She could no more explain their father’s change in behavior than predict when the first snows would fall come winter.
As if sensing their father’s unease, both children sat quietly as a footman delivered a steaming tureen of soup, followed by roasted pheasant with hearty vegetables, and finally, fragrant, spiced pudding.
Everyone ate in silence with only a murmured “thank you” here and there in appreciation of the servants’ work.
Payton barely touched each course as she waited for the baron to make his announcement.
Instead, he focused on his plate, finishing each course with gusto only rivaled by Abram.
Joy and Abram glanced in their father’s direction as if they could not believe their eyes. How long had it been since the baron had shared a meal with his children? She’d always assumed they dined together on her day off each week. It was apparent how wrong she’d been.
Thinking back to her own youth, Payton remembered every morning and evening meal taken with her mother and all her siblings.
They spoke of their days, laughed at Garrett’s outlandish jests, and commonly discussed much more serious topics when the need arose.
After her mother’s death, while they still ate together regularly, it was not every day as her brother and sisters forged their own paths in life.
Garrett moved to the Albany, while Marce was often too busy to join Payton and the twins.
The baron’s children did not have such fond memories to hold close.
“Abram,” Payton said, breaking the silence in her eagerness to spark their conversation. “Why don’t you tell your father about the book you’ve been reading.”
The boy’s fork clinked against his plate, and he looked at his father.
“I—I—it is an analysis of the Ottoman wars, starting with their strike against the weakened Byzantine Empire.” Abram paused, glancing at Payton.
With her nod of encouragement, he continued.
“I’ve only made it as far as the wars in Venice, but I cannot stop myself from moving ahead to read about the conquest of Cyrus. ”
It was a subject the father and son should bond over, yet Payton doubted the baron knew the depth of Abram’s interest in the subject.
“I am reading a picture book about ponies,” Joy chimed in, not to be outdone or overshadowed by talks of wars and ancient battles. “I’ve decided that when I am older, I am going to have an entire stable full of ponies—white ones, grey ones, and even midnight-black ones.”
Their father smiled, and as quickly as that, the tension fled the room.
“So many ponies? How will you remember all their names? And who will feed all those horses?” the baron asked with mock seriousness.
“They are ponies, Father. Ponies,” she said the word slowly. “And I shall care for them myself. I am going to be a grand opera singer. I will make more money than Prinny himself and hire a stable master who will assist me.”
“A singer and a pony collector?” Payton marveled aloud. “I had no idea you’d set your cap on two such prestigious aspirations.”
The girl had never so much as mentioned a love for ponies or singing since Payton had been at Ashford Hall.
“My mother was a grand singer,” Joy continued, a measure of pride in her voice. “Wasn’t she, Father?”
The trio turned to the baron, who trained his gaze toward the far end of the table, drawing deep, measured breaths.
She knew Lady Ashford’s death affected not only the children but also the baron; however, she’d never been confronted with the reality of it all—and neither had the baron, it appeared.
“I am certain she had the voice of an angel,” Payton replied, taking the children’s attention off their father. Lord Ashford appeared frozen in his seat, his body present but his thoughts somewhere far away—and likely long ago.
“She sang me to sleep every night.”
“You can’t remember that,” Abram cut in. “You were just a babe, still in nappies.”
Joy’s tiny face reddened. “I do so remember. Tell him, Father, Mother sang to me all the time.”
Payton held her breath when the baron remained silent, his eyes unfocused. She wasn’t sure that she nor the children would be happy to see him revert to his distant, dour mood.
As if a candle had been lit, the baron turned to his children, his smile returning, though a bit more forced than before. “Yes, Joy, your mother sang to you often, but that was the only time I can remember her singing.”
“She didn’t sing to me?” Abram asked, his expression clouding.
“No.” The baron shook his head. “You would wail so loudly when she sang. To you, my son, your mother read. Books filled with adventure—pirates, explorers, and faraway places.”
“That must be why I love stories about battles,” the boy mused.
“I think it is,” his father replied.
The baron’s gaze met Payton’s, and they both knew it was exactly what the boy needed to hear. Something that could form a connection with Abram’s lost mother. Lord Ashford’s interest in the same subjects mattered not a whit in the moment, only his remembrance of Sarah.
When the last plates were removed, both children groaned with satisfaction as the baron pushed back his chair as if, with the meal done, he was ready to return to his secluded study.
However, he didn’t move toward the door but stared down at his two fair-haired children, a gleam in his eye.
“I have an announcement.” He punctuated the word announcement with a clap of his hands.
“An announcement?” Joy squealed with delight, bouncing in her seat. So quickly, the child forgot the years of avoidance and distance at the mere mention of something special.
“Yes.” He leaned slightly forward and held his arm out wide. “We are going to see the traveling menagerie at Pall Mall tomorrow.”
“We?” Payton exhaled. Her stomach fluttered with—anticipation? Unease? Confusion?
Perhaps all three…
The baron turned to her, his smile broad as he nodded. “My dear sister has been berating me of late about my cloistered lifestyle. I think an adventure will be grand for us all.”